


Forget Me (K)Not

by theauthorish



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Actual Devil/Brazen Flirt Akaashi, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bondage, Flirting, M/M, Makeup artist Kuroo, Photographer Bokuto, Photography, Shibari, Teasing, model akaashi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthorish/pseuds/theauthorish
Summary: Koutarou's decided the theme of his final gallery for his photography class will be shibari-- but when no willing models come forward, who calls but Akaashi Keiji, back in Tokyo after a few years of college abroad?Follow along as Koutarou puts together his gallery, has several gay crises, rekindles his friendship and builds a new relationship with Akaashi.An advanced happy birthday to my friend Mer!!! This is a gift for her that spiralled out of control lol.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Insania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insania/gifts).



> So. This was meant to be a small oneshot for a friend's birthday. Maybe a little smutty with some fluff. But no. It evolved into a chapterfic and took over my brain, sorry starboys. 
> 
> But on the other hand. Happy birthday Mer!!!! We met because I was asking Cath and the others on discord for their birthdays, and you answered right away, and ever since then you’ve become one of my closest friends on the server. You're so sweet and fun and amazing, and I love how excited you get about everything, including this AU idea HAHA. I hope you like your gift and it's everything you imagined it would be! Idk if I’ll be able to update this regularly, but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway. Here's to all the chats we’ve had and all the ones we will have! I love you so much, thanks for being amazing and let's keep growing closer! Love youuuuu.

Koutarou loved the way the kinbaku looked: the intricate knot patterns, the toughness of the rope against the suppleness of the human body-- it was all about contrast. Differences. Juxtaposition.

 

He’d decided early on that shibari would be the theme of his final gallery for his photography class, and though his professor had been skeptical, he'd agreed with Koutarou that should he manage it, it would be both provoking and beautiful in ways that traditional photography subjects might not be.

 

That was, however, a big if, the professor had warned.

 

Koutarou could make it work. He had to.

 

But first-- he needed a model.

 

He talked to the head of the department about putting up a call for a model, and together they sorted out the details of Koutarou's project (what was required, what was a possibility depending on the model’s consent, what would absolutely not be included) and the pay that the college would be able to provide. Koutarou also added on that he would be willing to promise future photography services as a sort of additional payment-by-favor.

 

Once he had a model, Koutarou could finetune his ideas and narrow down his concept into something more resembling an actual theme. Maybe even a story.

 

In the end, a week went by without any calls about the job. That didn't bother Koutarou too much, he knew students were busy and his requirements were a little more... adventurous than most people were likely comfortable with. That was fine. 

 

But then one became two became three, and Koutarou was starting to worry. Their other assignments for the class had largely centered around the gallery-- proposed shots (which Koutarou could barely manage without a model to work with), storylines, shooting venues and times; did they need any help from Abe-sensei reserving places or arranging things? Advice on how they could improve their concept? Any preliminary shots they wanted approved?

 

Koutarou seemed to be the only one who could only pass forward vague descriptions and shots of venues and lighting samples, color schemes and knots he wanted to try out. Basics. No, not even that. Just wisps of ideas. Nothing he could give his professor was  _ concrete _ . Even the slowest of their class had produced something solid for their gallery, even if it was just a few test shots, or a cliche plotline for their pictures. 

 

But Koutarou hadn't. 

 

Abe-sensei, stern though he was, was thankfully understanding. He knew what it was to be a struggling artist, and he had had Koutarou as his student long enough to know that in time, Koutarou would pull through.

 

At least one of them knew it, Koutarou thought. Because he himself wasn't sure he could manage after all. Maybe he ought to change the concept of his gallery after all. Maybe then he’d find a model.

 

Or maybe it was just him? He was supposed to be one of the top photography students, certainly good enough to win a few awards and special mentions in the school publications but-- what if that wasn't it? What if it was his mood swings, his too loud voice, the overly strange brain vomit that he called his ideas?

 

Ughhhhh! This was so  _ frustrating.  _ He’d been so excited for the chance to do this, but he couldn't!

 

He was drooping in his seat, miserable at the route his thoughts had taken. They all made sense, in a way. It was a weird gallery concept. Abe-sensei had definitely known from the start-- the way he’d looked at Koutarou as they were discussing it really should have been a cue to drop it already--

 

“Koutarou-kun.”

 

Koutarou lifted his head and met the professor’s eyes. Before he could say anything, though, the older man held up a hand.

 

“You chose your subject knowing it would be difficult, yes?”

 

Oh… he was going to scold him… Koutarou felt himself wilt a little more. He knew no one else in the class was paying him any attention, focusing on their own work instead, but he didn't care. He just--

 

“You did it knowing you could, because you're one of the top students I have, yes? You knew that you would be able to pull through, in the end. That if anyone could make this difficult topic work, and work beautifully… it would be you,” he continued.

 

Koutarou sighed. Loudly. “I thought so, but--”

 

“Koutarou-kun,” Abe-sensei sighed. “You knew so. Not thought. You are one of the best students here. You  _ will  _ pull through.”

 

Koutarou blinked. And then he grinned. “Hey hey hey! You’re right!”

 

No one reacted to his outburst. It was par for the course with being classmates or even just in the general vicinity of Bokuto Koutarou. They didn't even roll their eyes at the sudden flood of confidence. 

 

“Thanks sensei! Of course I can do it! I’m the best!” He cheered.

 

Abe-sensei only chuckled. “Glad to see you're feeling better. I think the office mentioned to me earlier that someone expressed interest in the position, by the way, so expect a call soon.”

 

Koutarou brightened up even more, if that was possible. All right!!! A possible model! It wasn't much, but it was something, at least, and Koutarou was an optimist anyway. Things would work out.

 

/////

 

“Dude, you suck at this game,” Kuroo cackled, as Koutarou finished their 5th game of Mario Kart in 8th place. Again.

 

“Shut up, you purposely aim at me every time,” Koutarou grumbled, though he was smiling. Before Kuroo could make a retort, Koutarou's phone rang. Well, that was weird. The only one who ever really called him aside from his mom was Kuroo-- who was right here, obviously. And his mom always texted to let him know she’d be ringing him, so… 

 

“Hello?”

 

For a moment, the other end of the line was quiet. Koutarou moved the phone away from his face to check, but… nope, still connected. And he had good signal. He brought it back to his ear. Finally: “Good evening, Bokuto-san.”

 

Koutarou dropped his phone.

 

“Shit, dude, what's up with you?” Kuroo asked, picking it up and handing it to Koutarou, who was staring at the device with wide eyes, disbelieving. He’d imagined it, hadn't he? That couldn't have been who he thought it was.

 

Kuroo sighed and took Koutarou's hand (still frozen in position) and slipped the phone back into his grip. “Whoever it is is still on the line, Bo. Don't be rude.”

 

“I-- uh-- sorry,” he stammered into the receiver.

 

“It’s all right, Bokuto-san. I was honestly expecting much worse than a couple of dull thumps,” said the man, and holy shit, it  _ was _ \--

 

“Aggkaashiie!!! What do you mean ‘worse’?” Koutarou complained, fighting back a laugh because  _ holy shit _ this was real, it was Akaashi, his bestest friend ever, he was back, and-- “Ohmygod, when did you get back? How did you get my number? Where are you staying, we have to hang out sometime and the team will definitely want to see you, and--”

 

He heard Akaashi’s chuckle (god, he had missed him). “Bokuto-san please, one question at a time.”

 

“Right, sorry.”

 

Kuroo said something about making himself scarce so ‘you lovebirds can work things out’, and Koutarou was too elated to hit him for the dumb remark. They weren't lovebirds. They were best friends. But who cared what Kuroo said right now, when he was talking to Akaashi for the first time in years? Sure they used to video-call quite regularly, but that had faded out as they both got busier and busier, and the gaps in their lives seemed big and awkward and hard to bridge. They still chatted online, when they could, but it was different. Actually hearing Akaashi's voice…

 

“To answer your questions, Bokuto-san, I got back a couple of weeks ago, and I'm staying with my parents for now until I save enough for my own place.” There was a pause as the former Fukurodani setter considered his next words. “And I got your number from the campus office. They said you were looking for a model, and I was intrigued about it.”

 

“O-oh.” Something about knowing Akaashi had seen his call for a  _ shibari model  _ of all things made him flush.

 

“Anyway,” Akaashi said, and was Koutarou hearing things, or was there an amused lilt to his voice? “The pay is good, so if you would have me--”

 

“Of course!” Bokuto cut in, much too loud. He could practically feel Akaashi wincing from here. “I mean,” he said, softer. “I’d love to have you.”

 

“That’s good to hear, Bokuto-san. Do you want to meet for coffee tomorrow to discuss the details? We can catch up as well.”

 

“Yeah! Text me when and where and I'll go!”

 

“As long as you promise you’ll tell me if you have a class so I can reschedule.”

 

Ah, Koutarou had missed this. The stern but fond tone of Akaashi's chiding, the ease of their conversations, the comfort of their dynamic on and off the court.

 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi prompted, and Koutarou remembered to reply.

 

“Yeah, yeah! Don't worry Akaashi!”

 

They talked a little longer before hanging up, and Koutarou felt fuzzy and warm and nostalgic. He couldn't wait to talk to Akaashi, to see him, ohmygod. Was he the same height? Did he still keep his expression largely unreadable (to everyone but Koutarou, obviously)? Had he changed at all?

 

Koutarou supposed it didn’t matter much even if he had. Things were definitely working out.

 

/////

 

Nevermind, things weren't working out. Koutarou was too nervous! He couldn't push through with this. Having Akaashi model shibari knots for him? And sure, he liked the art because it was… well… artistic and beautiful to Koutarou in its intricacy, rather than because of its sensuality, but there was no denying that generally, kinbaku was largely erotic in nature, and…

 

Shit, shit,  _ shit. _

 

He had not thought this through  _ at all _ .

 

But then, when did Koutarou ever think things through? It was too late to back out now anyway.

 

Koutarou squared his shoulders and pushed the door of the cafe open, scanning the room for a familiar head of curls. Ah, there he was, sitting with his legs crossed in a loveseat by the window, the light falling across his features like some cliche romance movie shot.

 

Also like a cliche romance movie, Koutarou's first thought on seeing him was:  _ Holy shit he’s just as fucking beautiful as he used to be. _

 

Followed by:  _ No, he’s even  _ more  _ beautiful. _

 

And  _ that  _ was followed by:  _ Fuck that was gay. Fuck,  _ I'm _ gay. _

 

At his sides, Koutarou's hands twitched for a camera he didn't have. And right at that moment, Akaashi's gaze slid over to Koutarou. The edges of his mouth quirked in a smile. Koutarou forced his body back into motion and made his way to meet his old setter. “Good morning, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. 

 

“Mornin’, ‘Kaash,” Koutarou greeted in reply, feeling shy for some inexplicable reason. 

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

Akaasi arched a brow. “Will you not sit down, Bokuto-san?”

 

Koutarou laughed sheepishly at that, taking the sofa across Akaashi. “Right. Sorry.” What was he nervous about? Sure, he was gay, and Akaashi was pretty as fuck, but this had always been the case. More than anything, this was his best friend. What did he have to be anxious about? He settled back into his seat, feeling much better, and beamed at Akaashi. “So how’ve you been? Tell me about all the adventures I missed!”

 

Akaashi chuckled. “There isn't much to tell. San Francisco is like any other city. The people there are diverse, and I have some pictures to show you, later. I missed Tokyo though.”

 

“That’s not fair Akaaaaashiiiieee,” Koutarou whined. “You’ve gotta have stories!”

 

Akaashi sighed in affectionate exasperation, and already this was all so familiar. Koutarou was relieved. He had been just a little afraid it wouldn't be so easy after all.

 

For the first hour after they bought themselves drinks, they exchanged stories back and forth. They talked about classes and teachers, shenanigans and explorations, dreams and goals. They talked about their days at Fukurodani, their days on court together. They talked volleyball in general, too, but neither of them had as much time to play as they used to.

 

But soon enough, Akaashi said, “So, Bokuto-san, about the modelling.”

 

“Oh, right!” Koutarou considered Akaashi for a little bit-- the way he looked, his personality, the things he’d learned about him during their time as friends. “Well,” he started slowly. “Shibari is the main thing, which you know, obviously. But… I'm thinking the theme should be contrasts.”

 

Akaashi's expression didn't change, but there was a hint of interest in his eyes. “Go on, Bokuto-san.”

 

Koutarou nodded. “See, ‘Kashee, what I like best about kinbaku is the difference between the toughness of the rope versus the softness of the body.” His voice was uncharacteristically solemn as he spoke, and Akaashi looked entranced by this strange occurrence as Koutarou described his vision. “So. Contrasts. I was thinking last night, actually, about the different shots I could do with you, like the poses and the lighting and--”

 

He cut himself off. “You’re really pretty, Akaashi. That's uh… that makes it really easy to have ideas.”

 

Akaashi raised a brow and smirked gently. “Oh? And what kind of ideas are those?”

 

Koutarou felt heat flood his face at the suggestion in Akaashi's tone. Had Akaashi always been so…  _ this _ ? Koutarou couldn't even find the word for it right now.

 

“I-- just-- just! Gallery… uh, photo, thoughts, you know? I didn't!!! Um.”

 

Akaashi laughed into his hand, and Koutarou made a soft noise of complaint as he let his head hit the table. “You’re mean, ‘Kaash.”

 

“And you're cute,” Akaashi replied, amusement lacing his words.

 

Koutarou responded with a garbled sound of sorts.

 

Akaashi let him have a moment to gather himself, and then prompted him, “So, Bokuto-san, what kind of pictures did you want?”

 

Koutarou perked up and pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket, flipping through it. “I wrote down a few ideas here,” he muttered, half to himself as he hunted down the right page. “Oh! But, Akaashi, would you be willing to model for both genders? Like. Kuroo can help with the makeup and the wig and stuff and I can find someone to borrow clothes from, but, like. In some of the pictures, I’d have you look like a girl, maybe, if you were okay with it.” 

 

Koutarou waved his hands vaguely as he tried to figure out how to explain it.“It’s just, you're really, really beautiful and I think you could pull it off, and I think it would really help with the whole contrast thing, y’know?”

 

Akaashi took the proffered notebook and squinted at the scrawled bullet points and sentences, sometimes pausing to examine a quick sketch Koutarou had made of what he was imagining at the time. His face was clear of judgment, but Koutarou couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing. “I don't mind. How do you think it would it help, though?”

 

Koutarou flailed a little more vigorously as if that would get his point across. Akaashi gave him a  _ look _ . As if to say,  _ really, Bokuto-san?  _ “Just… the differences between male and female, but… the same face, really. The same actions. It would show the whole contrast thing better than if I used separate models, and have like. Another layer to the gallery than if I just used one model doing one gender.”

 

Akaashi smiled approvingly. It probably shouldn't have, but it still filled Koutarou almost to bursting with pride, as if nothing were more important than Akaashi giving him praise. “Then I don't mind, Bokuto-san,” he said easily. “I’ll confirm with the office that I’ll be taking the job, and then we can start whenever you’d like.”

 

Akaasi started to stand.

 

“Akaashi, wait!”

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san?”

 

“You have to let me know, ‘kay, if you don't like any of my ideas. Like, if you don't wanna do ‘em for any reason.” 

 

“Don't I always, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi replied, still smiling softly at him in a way that made Koutarou's heart do flips worthy of an acrobat. “I have to go now, but call me or something, all right?”

 

Koutarou nodded, dumbstruck yet again by the gorgeousness of his former setter.

 

He was so  _ fuckin’ gay,  _ he thought, as he watched the other go, one elegant hand raised in a gentle wave.

 

/////

 

Koutarou stayed at the cafe much longer. He bought another cup of hot chocolate (he was expressly forbidden from having coffee by everyone he knew) and a muffin to munch on as he furiously sketched out more ideas for the gallery. He had a model to work with now, so he could solidify things-- he could rule out the ideas that didn't match Akaashi's build or face, come up with new ones to better suit him. He brainstormed venues and poses and ideas for the makeup (he’d need Kuroo’s approval for those) and started planning out when he would take what shots. He didn't quite have a story, yet. But he could feel something forming. And that was enough for now.

 

Later that night, he was on his evening run when he passed by a field of flowers-- he passed it every night, actually, but today for some reason, he felt the need to know what sort of flowers these were. The moonlight struck their powder-blue petals in such a way that they seemed to glow, their tiny delicate blooms looking like burnished silver, almost. Without thinking, Koutarou fished his phone out of his pocket and took a couple of shots.

 

He sent one to Akaashi along with the text:  _ Hey Akaashi, what flowers are these? _

 

It was barely five minutes later when his phone vibrated in reply.  _ They’re called forget-me-nots, Bokuto-san. They're very beautiful. _

 

Koutarou tapped out a quick reply (something about using them for the gallery maybe, he didn't remember) and then continued his run. He didn't stop when Akaashi texted again, but he figured the other wouldn't mind. He was very considerate like that. He was almost done with his route anyway.

 

The rhythm of his footsteps against the pavement and the steady motion of running helped him focus, and his thoughts came back to those tiny, unassuming flowers. Forget-me-nots. He wanted them in the gallery-- he wasn't really sure why, but he’d learned to trust his gut on these things. Maybe it was because it, too, was a good example of contrast? Of opposites? It was so tiny, so easily ignored, yet its very name demanded not to be forgotten.

 

Koutarou liked that.

 

He knew there was more to it; more behind the insistence of his instincts that he incorporate these little blossoms into his gallery, but that could wait until later, he was sure. Besides, he was finally outside the dorm complex, and he was too tired to make another circuit.

 

He made his way to his and Kuroo’s shared room, not even stopping to greet Kenma and his boyfriend as he passed them. He’d shower first, then say hi. Or wait. He’d sit on the sofa, then say hi. His muscles burned with exertion, and while he welcomed it, loved it even, it still didn't erase the fact that he was tired.

 

When he finished his shower and settled in on the couch, Kuroo came over and ruffled his hair. “So, how’d it go?”

 

“I think Akaashi was flirting with me.”

 

There was a stunned silence at that. Koutarou hadn't expected that to be the first thing out of his mouth, but… it was definitely true.

 

“Okay, bro, you need to give me details, you can't just drop a bomb like that and  _ not  _ give me details,” Kuroo said, hopping over the back of the couch as if he were trying to be one of those cool action movie heroes (‘tried’ because it didn't really work). 

 

Kenma grunted from where he was still seated on the kitchen counter. “Akaashi's always flirted with you though, Bokuto. You just never noticed,” he said quietly.

 

Koutarou made a strangled noise. “He-- no!”

 

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, grinning his horrible, smarmy grin. Koutarou wanted to smash a pillow in it. Actually, he might as well do that.

 

He picked up the nearest throw pillow and whacked Kuroo in the face with it, resulting in a squawk that was equal parts hilarious and dumb.

 

“Fuckin’...” Kuroo lunged at Koutarou, who leapt out of the way, guffawing loudly as Kuroo smacked his leg against the coffee table instead, hissing in pain. “Get over here so I can strangle you, you dumb owl!”

 

“Nuh-uh!” Koutarou dashed around to the kitchen, effortlessly picking Kenma up (he made a small grunt of surprise but didn't bother struggling) and holding him out like a human shield. “Now you can't touch me!” He cheered. “You’re too whipped to do anything that’ll bother Kenma even by accident!”

 

Kuroo spluttered, going red so fast Koutarou wondered if it was painful somehow. “I’m not-- not  _ whipped _ \-- shut the fuck up bro. If anyone’s whipped here, it's you.”

 

Koutarou's eyebrows rose. “I’m not the one who learned how to use makeup and how to make cosplay costumes just because my best friend-- who I  _ told  _ you you were gay for even though you were crazy deep in denial-- was too lazy to learn himself. Not to mention you spent all of your own money on the materials and the con tickets.”

 

Kenma hummed. “Bokuto's right, that's pretty whipped, Tetsu.”

 

Kuroo looked offended. “Aren't you supposed to be on my side?”

 

Kenma blinked at his boyfriend innocently. “Am I?”

 

Koutarou snickered as Kuroo collapsed dramatically to the floor, bemoaning his fate of being stuck with an absolute demon-- until Kenma wriggled free of Koutarou's grip and pecked him on the forehead before settling comfortably on the couch to continue playing his game. Kuroo instantly blushed a deeper shade of red and buried his face in his hands in an attempt to hide his stupid smile. It didn't work.

 

Koutarou cracked up. “Man you are so  _ whipped  _ why do you even deny it?”

 

“Shut the  _ fuck  _ up, Bo, or I won't help with your gallery.”

 

Koutarou's eyes went wide. “You won't?” Oh man, Koutarou had only been joking around, but without makeup half his ideas were out the window and--

 

“Dude.  _ Dude. _ ” Kuroo sighed, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing Koutarou's shoulders to shake him gently. “Of course I will. I was just teasing, okay? Speaking of that, you told me you had some ideas. Want to tell me about them?”

 

Koutarou eagerly started explaining his ideas, hands gesticulating as he talked. Kuroo listened with a smile, occasionally muttering to himself about the sort of products they’d need or adding suggestions to better work with Akaashi's features. Sometimes he asked questions about the composition of the shot. This was good. This was great.

 

As Koutarou finished describing one of the shots we was looking forward to doing most, Kuroo suddenly spoke up, “Hey! You never said how Akaashi flirted with you.” He nudged Koutarou with his elbow. “Well?”

 

“Oh yeah!” 

 

Koutarou recounted the bit of conversation and Kuroo whistled lowly. “Wow, Akaashi's so bold now. Guess he realized it was the only way to get through your thick skull.”

 

“Shut up, Kuroo,” Koutarou laughed.

 

/////

 

Koutarou had classes most of the next day, but he texted back and forth with Akaashi about everything from the details of when they’d start the shoot and possible venues to random complaints and observations. It was like nothing had changed between them.

 

They agreed to start the shoot this weekend, and do one or two shots a day depending on the rigging and how Akaashi was feeling. They’d meet at Koutarou's dorm each day, and then Koutarou would lead them to whatever venue he wanted to use.

 

The week went by surprisingly quick, and by the time Saturday rolled around, Koutarou was feeling good about putting his gallery together-- excited, even. Akaashi was due to come around at about eleven, so Koutarou figured he had enough time to take a morning jog and maybe pick a few of the forget-me-nots he’d spotted the other night for use later, then still be able to shower and be ready by the time Akaashi arrived. After all, it was only eight. Three hours was plenty of time.

 

His jog lasted an hour and a half, and it took him another half hour to pick enough forget-me-nots and make his way home. Which left him an hour to take his bath, and that was fine. Absolutely okay.

 

Except Koutarou, in the years apart, had forgotten a crucial fact about Akaashi. He was always early.

 

And so, Koutarou was coming out of the bathroom, dripping wet and in nothing but a towel since he’d left his change of clothes in his bedroom, when he heard a small commotion by the front door. It couldn't be Akaashi, he wasn't due for another thirty minutes yet, but--

 

Oh, but it was. The former setter stood at the entrance to the hallway, blinking at Koutarou, who stared back, equally at a loss for what to do.

 

Somewhere in his mind, he realized Kuroo must have thought he was still in the shower, and sent Akaashi to wait in Koutarou's room.

 

More pressing right now was the fact that Akaashi Keiji, prettiest setter in the whole entire world, soon-to-be model for Koutarou's gallery (about shibari of all things), was ogling him, growing steadily pinker as time passed.

 

Wait.

 

WAIT. 

 

HOLY SHIT.

 

“‘Kaashiiieee holy  _ shit _ ! What are you doing here-- I mean, I asked you to come but-- you're early and--!” Akaashi's eyes snapped up to meet Koutarou's (where had he been looking???) and Koutarou remembered he should maybe save the shocked questions for  _ after  _ he wasn't basically naked in the hallway. “WAIT THERE, OKAY.”

 

He dashed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut, rummaging through his drawers for a good pair of jeans and one of his trademark owl shirts. Once he’d tugged them on, he took three deep breaths to calm himself and then went to join Akaashi in the living room. Kuroo was snorting into his hand, likely having heard the story from Akaashi, who appeared to have composed himself once more. Koutarou hoped he looked just as unbothered but… he could still feel warmth in his cheeks, so probably not.

 

“Sorry, ‘Kaash. I forgot you like to be super early to everything,” Koutarou admitted sheepishly.

 

Akaashi grinned at him, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “It’s okay, Bokuto-san, I rather liked the view.”

 

“Oh shit, that was pretty slick, Akaashi,” Kuroo commented, raking a hand through his hair. “Did you want any snacks, by the way?”

 

“Thank you, Kuroo-san, and no, I'm all right.”

 

Koutarou was still gaping. There Akaashi went, flirting so… so  _ brazenly _ with him. That was the word, wasn't it?

 

“Bokuto-san, shall we go?” Akaashi prompted, and Koutarou snapped his mouth shut.

 

“I-- yeah,” Koutarou managed, ignoring Kuroo’s snigger. As he yanked his camera bag over his shoulder and ushered Akaashi out the door, though, Koutarou flipped his best bro off over his shoulder.

 

/////

 

Koutarou ended up having to dash back in right after, much to his chagrin and Kuroo’s entertainment, to grab the forget-me-nots he’d left in a vase (in other words, a washed out beer bottle) by the kitchen sink, and even more embarrassing, his shibari ropes. 

 

“I don't really know why I liked these flowers so much, but my instincts say to use them in the shots somehow, and my instincts are usually right with this stuff,” Koutarou explained, as he started walking in the right direction, Akaashi falling into step beside him.

 

“Is that so,” Akaashi mused. “So what shot do you want to do today?”

 

“Oh! Well,” Koutarou fished his phone out of his pocket (Akaashi, seeing him struggle to do this with his hands full, took the flowers and rope from his hands). He flipped through the gallery until he found some of the shots of today’s venue that he’d taken for reference. “See, there's an old dance studio downtown, and I was thinking it would be a good place to try out the knots and take test shots, right?”

 

Akaashi hummed, nodding at him to continue.

 

“And then, see, ‘Kashee, we could totally do all sorts of different contrasts,” Koutarou went on, a bounce in his step as he began expounding-- he couldn't wait for this gallery, he was sure this would be his best one yet. He held up his hand and counted on his fingers as he listed, “We’ll have the gender thing, and I was thinking ’bout having a contrast between physical and like-- non-physical--”

 

“Emotional?” Akaashi guessed. “Mental?”

 

Koutarou snapped his fingers, pointing a finger at Akaashi. “That. Those kinds of bonds. So, like, when you're all tied up, I want you to have your shoulders, your expression all-- warrior-y,” Koutarou said, fighting back a laugh at the way Akaashi's nose wrinkled at the last word, as if it personally offended him.  _ Cute _ . “And then when I let you loose, I want to take a picture of you with the indents-- from the rope, y’know-- still on your skin, and looking kinda… sad. Longing. Like you want to be bound all over again.”

 

“So this is what we’ll be doing today? That shot?”

 

Koutarou positively beamed. “Yeah! Exactly! I think the plain background of the studio will really help the viewer focus on you.” He stopped. “Ah, but where was I… so that's two contrasts. Then I was thinking something about animalistic-- that’s the word, right, Agashee?”

 

Akaashi nodded. “Yes, it is. Good job, Bokuto-san.”

 

They were nearing the studio now, Koutarou knew, and he took Akaashi by the elbow to guide him down the side streets that led to it. It was a little out of the way, really, so Koutarou understood, somewhat, how it might have gone out of business.

 

“Okay, well, animalistic versus all that… prim and proper stuff. That's the next contrast,” he told Akaashi, stepping over some debris.  They were almost there now. “I’ll tell you more about that when Kuroo joins us later, he can help me explain what we were imagining. Then I was thinking of one of those… city versus province things? Or maybe tech versus-- versus nature, y’know what I mean, don't you ‘Kaashee?”

 

“Of course, Bokuto-san.”

 

He thought a little longer. “I was thinking color contrast too, just. General shapes and colors.” 

 

They made one last turn, and then Koutarou was pulling a key from his pocket and flicking open the lock of the abandoned studio, letting Akaashi enter ahead of him. “The owner’s a real nice choreographer who works down at the other studio near campus,” Koutarou said. “She noticed a lot of photography students liked to borrow the dance studio or visit just to take pictures, so she gave Abe-sensei a key for this place.”

 

They set up in one of the dance rooms first-- with its smooth slate gray floor and mirror-paneled walls, it made a remarkably bare backdrop without being empty. It was exactly what Koutarou needed for his first few pictures.

 

“Here. This is perfect.” He started adjusting his camera setting and taking test shots-- it was a little too dark, but thankfully when he tried the switch, the overhead light still worked. That was better.

 

Although. Maybe the natural lighting would cast some dramatic shadows? He’d need--

 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi called, and Koutarou turned around to see that he had already unbuttoned his shirt and was now sliding it off his shoulders.

 

And sure, Koutarou had seen Akaashi undress before, it was just how things went when you were on a sports team, but--

 

Akaashi was peering up at him through his ridiculously long lashes, his long, graceful fingers folding his shirt neatly into fourths before he set it down gingerly atop Koutarou's discarded camera bag. That done, Akaashi's fingers moved to the button of his pants, and Koutarou found himself unable to move, gaze riveted to the motion.

 

Dimly, he supposed he ought to stop staring because this was weird.

 

It was weird.

 

_ Come on Koutarou, quit  _ staring.

 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said again, his voice gone breathy and almost shy in a way that made Koutarou  _ want _ . He was tugging at his zipper now. 

 

Koutarou should really look away. 

 

“How do you want me?” He murmured, and Koutarou was fairly sure all the blood in his body had flooded to his face because it felt like he was burning, maybe. Or maybe it had all rushed to his dick, but he hoped not. That would be mortifying.

 

“I-- Akaashi-- what--” Koutarou stuttered, and he didn't know what he was trying to say, but really--

 

Akaashi sighed, clearly trying not to be endeared and failing. Had… Koutarou imagined that? The sheer amount of suggestion beneath that single question? But… he couldn't have. Could he?

 

But it seemed as if he had, unlikely as it was, because in his normal voice, Akaashi said: “For the picture, Bokuto-san. How do you want me to be positioned?” 

 

Koutarou bit his lip and whirled around to face the center of the floor. “Just, uh. In the middle!!! Please!!! And uh, sit on your heels? You know, the… the-- what was it called?”

 

Akaashi's brows rose. “You mean seiza, Bokuto-san?”

 

Koutarou nodded. He couldn't get Akaashi's voice out of his head, the way the soft velvet of his tone curled around each syllable of such a loaded question-- it had shaken him. Now he’d never be able to shake the memory. Fuck.

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

Akaashi stepped free of his jeans and folded them as well, placing them with his shirt. He was apparently already barefoot as well, shoes neatly aligned beside the camera bag, socks tucked inside them. He walked over to the spot Koutarou had indicated and got into position.

 

Koutarou lowered his camera to the floor and fumbled to untie the bundle of rope. “Okay, so you remember the rules we talked about, right, Akaash’?” he asked, mostly to distract himself from the fact that Akaashi was nearly naked and presenting himself to Koutarou to do with as he wished--  _ for the gallery's sake,  _ he reminded himself. It didn't help much.

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi drawled, and Koutarou knew he was restraining himself from saying that between the two of them, it was Koutarou who was forgetful. “If anything feels weird, alert you immediately. I should periodically wiggle my toes or my fingers to check for feeling and movement. If I need to, take the scissors and cut the rope right away,” he recited, and Koutarou felt himself relax a little.

 

“Great! Okay, so I need you to straighten your shoulders for me…” Koutarou talked about his vision for this shot as he worked, going slow and steady and mentally running through what he'd learned in the workshops he’d taken. He was careful to avoid the nerve clusters, since those could cause serious damage, referring once in a while to a diagram on his phone to ensure he didn't accidentally hit one. 

 

He bound Akaashi's hands together using two-column ties, instructing the model to keep his palms flat against each other as much as possible. From there, Koutarou began to secure the area just above his elbows with a similar knot, using the same rope-- the trail of cord following the line of his spine was beautiful, to Koutarou, somehow, though he couldn't have said why.

 

It was quiet as he worked. Still. The only noise was the low rustle of the rope and the faint sound of birds somewhere outside filtering through the front door they’d left open. Once in a while, after he tied off a knot, Koutarou would have Akaashi test the give of the rope or check in on how he was feeling, but other than that, he said nothing, intent on his task.

 

It was, Koutarou thought, a rather different sort of power than spiking. It was much more controlled, more deliberate than smashing past a block, but it gave him a similar sort of thrill. Akaashi seemed intrigued by this development, if his sharp attention to Koutarou's every adjustment was anything to go by-- as far as he knew, it was immensely difficult to get Koutarou quiet, so Koutarou understood. 

 

When Koutarou had finished tying off the knots, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “‘S’it okay, Akaashi?”

 

Akaashi nodded. “Just fine, Bokuto-san. No discomfort or anything,” he affirmed.

 

Koutarou nodded and picked up his camera once more, adjusting the focus and the angle until he felt satisfied. He ended up crouched on the floor a few feet from Akaashi, who he reminded, “Shoulders back, chin up, ‘kay? Like… like you're proud.”

 

Akaashi set his shoulders as asked and tipped his head back the slightest bit-- through the viewfinder, Koutarou saw his shoulders broad and strong, turned golden in the afternoon sun, and thought they looked perfect. Like shoulders for leaning on when he needed it. Like shoulders he wanted to kiss and nip at, too.

 

He put the camera down again to place the final touches-- the forget-me-nots. He halved the bundle he’d brought, setting aside the rest for later, when Kuroo arrived to help them put together the shot with Akaashi's female persona. The remaining half for use now, he separated into two groups again, twining the stems of one bunch with the ropes holding Akaashi. The rest, he snapped the blossoms off their stems and lay them across Akaashi's bare shoulders.

 

As his warm breath ghosted across the skin of Akaashi's neck, the other man shivered, shaking some of the flowers he’d just arranged to the floor. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

Koutarou chuckled lowly, careful this time not to let his exhales hit Akaashi's skin. He didn't want to make him (more) uncomfortable, after all. “It’s okay. I think it looks better that way anyway.”

 

He backed up into his earlier position, taking up the camera once more and finding his earlier angle. He paused, noticing the goosebumps dotting his flesh. “Are you cold, ‘Kaashi?”

 

“No.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Oh. Hm.”

 

He snapped the picture.

 

/////

 

Koutarou took a few more shots from different angles, but the first remained his favorite. He didn't bother taking any from the front, either. He knew that could wait until later pictures. Right now, it was his back that was most powerful. The firmness of his stance even tied back, the iron of his spine. This was a man who could not be bent by force. This was a man of bravery and courage.

 

Koutarou continued to confirm with Akaashi that he was all right, having him wiggle his extremities to prove he still could and prodding him to ask if he felt it, and hadn't gone numb as he took the additional pictures. He even offered to untie him and simply redo them later on, but Akaashi declined.

 

Eventually, he knelt at Akaashi's side and started to undo the kinbaku. “You can relax into any position you want,” Koutarou said, freeing Akaashi's upper arms. His fingers worked deftly at the knots binding the setter's wrists next. “But try and pose yourself so the indents are visible, ‘kay?”

 

Akaashi nodded, stretching out his stiff limbs. Eventually, he sprawled himself out on the floor, tossing an arm over his eyes. “Is this okay, Bokuto-san?” he asked softly. “I think this might be the only position I could maintain very long after that. It's very straining-- and no, Bokuto-san, I didn't and do not mind, please don't yell.”

 

Koutarou shut his mouth. Akaashi really knew him well, huh?

 

“Actually… I think this is great,” Koutarou mumbled to himself. He picked up the rope and slipped it into Akaashi's hand. At Akaashi's puzzled look, he said, “Just… hold onto it. Loosely. Y’know, just… yeah.”

 

Koutarou stepped away and collected the flowers from the last shot-- some of them unwittingly crushed by Akaashi's stretches or Koutarou's feet as he’d untied the other, but if anything, that only added to their appeal for this particular photo. He scattered them across the marks left in Akaashi's skin, laid the pressed and trampled ones in or near his hand holding the rope, as if he had gripped them tight and only just released them. 

 

There. Perfect.

 

Koutarou took a couple more pictures, and then let Akaashi know he was done, if he wanted to move again. The setter didn't stir.

 

He shot off a text to Kuroo, asking where he was. It had been nearly half an hour now, it shouldn't be taking this long for him to get here.

 

Instead of a reply, the front door of the studio banged open, followed by a yell of, “I’m here already, you dumb owl. I had to go digging for one of my mom's old kimonos, that shit took forever to find.”

 

“Hey hey hey! Bro! There you are!”

 

Koutarou went to greet Kuroo, grinning. “Dude, the shots are great, now we just have to make the parallels, so.”

 

Kuroo ruffled his hair-- which, Koutarou noticed belatedly, he hadn't even styled. Normally, he would have been distraught, but the outcome of the first few pictures and the way his ideas were coming together was too exciting to allow him to fall into a mood. “Yeah, yeah, bro. So, lemme at our model then.”

 

Akaashi came out then, apparently having mustered up the energy to stand up again. “Kuroo-san,” he said by way of greeting. 

 

There was a question in his eyes that Kuroo answered with, “Had to grab my makeup at my parents’ house, and this too.” He hefted up a black suit bag that Koutarou assumed held the kimono Kuroo had mentioned. “Or I would have come straight here with you guys. Took longer than I thought it would.”

 

Akaashi quirked up an eyebrow. “Kuroo-san, you know how to do makeup?”

 

Koutarou threw his head back on a laugh. “Gods, Akaash’, the story behind that is so funny, I’ll tell you later,” he said.

 

“Shut up,” Kuroo said, shoving Koutarou.

 

Koutarou just laughed harder, and Akaashi cracked a smile at their antics. “I look forward to hearing it then.”

 

“Fuck you too, Akaashi.”

 

“No thank you, Kuroo-san, you are most definitely not my type.”

 

Koutarou's head swiveled between the two of them as if watching an intense tennis game-- the two of them were fond of repartee, and though at first it had bothered Koutarou, now he just liked to watch it and commentate once in a while. 

 

Kuroo was smirking now, baring his teeth viciously. “Oh? Pray tell then, who  _ is _ your type?”

 

Akaashi didn't even think about it. “Bokuto-san.”

 

Koutarou blinked. Then he blushed for the umpteenth time and did a one-eighty, heading into the room to clean up the rope and flowers so they could set up the next photo.

 

Kuroo snickered, and he heard Akaashi huff what might have been a snigger of his own.

 

“Oi, Bo, I’ll do the makeup out here. There's an old sofa out here he can sit on, so.”

 

Akaashi said something about pulling on his pants first, and then he followed Koutarou in. “I’m sorry if I'm upsetting you, Bokuto-san,” he said, tentative. “I can stop.”

 

Koutarou turned to face him, quizzical. “Upsetting me? Why would you be upsetting me?” Like, sure, Koutarou was a little embarrassed, but it was just a small thing. It wasn't anything for Akaashi to be fretting over so much. “I mean-- I just… I just dunno how to handle it, ‘Kaasheeee!” He whined, burying his face in his hands. “You’re just so pretty, and I am  _ so so gay _ . It might ‘s’well be my middle name! And-- and--”

 

He pouted at his former setter, whose expression hadn't changed much-- but Koutarou was used to reading the minute shifts of his face, and he knew that Akaashi was shocked. Elated. “It isn’t  _ fair _ , Agkash’.” 

 

Akaashi opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Kuroo yelled, “You two better not be fucking, I swear to god. I went through all the trouble to dig out the kimono and find that wig I bought for Kenma last time, like hell I'm gonna put this shit off because you guys got horny.”

 

Akaashi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kuroo-san, please,” he said. Koutarou just squawked in offense.

 

The setter zipped and buttoned his jeans, and then he went ahead outside, shooting Koutarou a small smile on his way.

 

Koutarou was fairly sure he’d just given Akaashi the go ahead to flirt with him even more, and was likely going to die from it, but-- what a way to go. He’d have to tell Kuroo to put it on his grave.

 

Actually, why not tell Kuroo now? He’d probably forget to do it later anyway.

 

“WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME YOU DUMB OWL, I'M RIGHT OUTSIDE. AND THIS IS JUST A KEYSMASH.”

 

“Kuroo-san, please.”

 

Koutarou tapped out another text.

 

“LOL DUDE YOU FUCKED, BUT SURE,” Kuroo yelled again.

 

Koutarou didn't have to go out to know that Akaashi was glaring at Kuroo now. He did, however, need to join them, so he tucked his phone away and sauntered into the main room where Akaashi was seated on the only remaining piece of furniture. As soon as he came out of the room, Akaashi fixed him with a narrow-eyed glower.

 

He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I didn't tell him to shout at me!” 

 

Akaashi sighed, but he didn't say anything, closing his eyes once more so Kuroo could continue working. “I’m just putting on foundation, but after that you need to tell me how you want Akaashi to look as his female persona before I can do anything else,” he said, rubbing a creamy substance over Akaashi's face. 

 

“Well… girls are traditionally… softer, right? Like. Rounder. Cuter. Y’know.”

 

Kuroo mulled it over, going through his case of makeup to find the right brush. “So, rounder, softer… you want me to tone down his angles then? Make him look all innocent and sweet?”

 

“Yeah!” That was exactly it! Thank god Kuroo was his bro and just. Got him.

 

Most of the time anyway.

 

Koutarou watched as Kuroo set to work, occasionally giving Akaashi directions to lift his face, open his eyes and look at the ceiling… etcetera. The changes were subtle, but as Kuroo got further along in the process, Koutarou could see where the makeup softened Akaashi's jawline by playing with shadows, where his best features were highlighted by a hint of something shiny. He watched Kuroo make Akaashi's lashes seem thicker and longer with the help of an eyelash curler and some mascara, watched him line his eyes just a little to make them seem bigger.

 

Kuroo set his things down, twisting to face Koutarou. “Are you having this shot in color? Does it matter what color lipstick I use? Oh yeah, and-- matte? Glossy? What finish?”

 

Koutarou blinked. “I. Dude, I don't know?”

 

Kuroo groaned. “It’s your gallery! Your photo! What do you  _ mean  _ you don't know? Think about it.” Kuroo sighed and held out his hand. “Give.”

 

“Give what?”

 

“Your hand,” Kuroo said, impatient. Koutarou eyed him for a second, but then shrugged and did as he was told. “These are the matte colors I have.” He swiped on three strips of color onto Koutarou's skin. One was a deep, wine-red, dark and rich. The middle color was more of a blood red, vibrant and alive; on Akaashi, Koutarou knew it would probably be a little sultry too. The last was a pastel pink, a far cry from the earlier shades. It was soft and delicate, like a flower just about to bloom. “I have black, too, but… you said softer, figured black lipstick was too goth and edgy.”

 

He put those down and snatched up two new tubes, swiping swatches of these onto Koutarou's hand as well. “These are the glossy ones. Nude and a clear glittery one. Pick a color now.”

 

Koutarou's brow wrinkled as he thought about it. “What color is the kimono?”

 

“Pink,” Kuroo answered. “I was supposed to bring a few others so you could choose, but I was late enough as it was and I couldn't find other bags to put them in.” 

 

Koutarou crossed over to where Kuroo had draped the suit bag over the armrest of Akaashi's seat, unzipping it just enough to get a look at the color. It loked just a shade or two darker than the pastel lipstick, so… “The second one,” he announced, pointing at the stripe of it Kuroo had left on his hand. “I’m going for contrasts and all, so--”

 

“We get it bro, don't strain yourself,” Kuroo chuckled good-naturedly, taking the right color in hand and having Akaashi pout his lips a little so he could apply it. “This is liquid lipstick,” he said, “so whatever you do,  _ do not  _ smack your lips together while it dries. It works for solid lipstick, but not liquid. Do not do it.”

 

When he’d finished, he capped the tube and produced the wig, using a comb to brush out any tangles in it. It was the same raven black as Akaashi's natural hair, only instead of soft waves, it fell straight, with princess bangs at the front of it. It looked long enough to fall all the way down to Akaashi's butt, actually, or just the top of it-- it really was a long wig.

 

“Impressive,” Akaashi commented, watching him brush it. “I wasn't aware you knew what a hairbrush was, let alone how to use it.”

 

Kuroo snorted. “Your hair isn't any better. It looks neater than mine, but we both know it's bedhead all the same.”

 

Akaashi flashed a sliver of a grin. “Fair enough, Kuroo-san.”

 

Koutarou watched as Kuroo helped Akaashi to put on the wig, adjusting it so it covered his natural hair well. That done, Akaashi stood and smiled at Koutarou.

 

He looked…

 

He looked beautiful. And shit, he was always beautiful, but--

 

But--

 

“What do you think, Bokuto-san? Do I make a convincing girl?”

 

“Yeah…” Koutarou rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I knew you would, though? You're really gorgeous, ‘Kaashi.”

 

“Ugh, blegh. No flirting in front of me, please,” Kuroo complained.

 

Akaashi smirked at him as if to say,  _ challenge accepted,  _ and Koutarou watched slow horror spread across his best bro’s face, even as he felt himself both dread and crave whatever was coming next. Akaashi took the few paces necessary to stand in front of Koutarou. 

 

“Is that so, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked, tilting his head  _ just so _ and running his fingers feather-light down Koutarou's cheek. He fluttered his lashes, and Koutarou felt his knees go weak. He hoped they wouldn't buckle. “You think I'm gorgeous?”

 

“I-- I!!!” Koutarou couldn't figure out if he wanted to draw closer to Akaashi or yank himself away. Meanwhile, he found his gaze flickering back and forth (or up and down?) between Akaashi's deep blue eyes, and his red, red lips. “I mean-- I…”

 

What had he been saying again? Was it him, or was Akaashi looking at Koutarou's lips too?

 

“OKAY. ENOUGH. COME ON GUYS, NOT COOL.”

 

Koutarou glanced at him, unsure if it was to ask for help or to tell him to shut up, but either way--

 

Akaashi ignored Kuroo entirely. Instead he trailed his touch down Koutarou's neck, to his chest, saying, “Because I’ve always thought the same about you…”

 

Kuroo let out a frustrated grumble, stomping off ahead into the room they’d used to shoot. Akaashi watched him go, and then grinned widely at Koutarou.

 

Koutarou swallowed down the lump in his throat and smiled weakly back at him. “You’re a devil,” he said lightly.

 

“No, but I can certainly be naughty,” Akaashi retorted, flippant even as Koutarou  _ actually _ stumbled back, flabbergasted by the implication of the statement.

 

Akaashi had just.

 

What the fuck.

 

Akaashi giggled at him, winking before vanishing into the other room.

 

He was an absolute  _ devil _ , no matter what he said, Koutarou decided, and then he went after them.

 

Once there, he found Akaashi had stepped out of his jeans once more, and was now slipping on the nagajuban and tying off the datejime with Kuroo’s help. “Do you want it all proper, Bo, or a little loose?”

 

“Loose, please!” Koutarou said. “Enough that it’ll slide off his shoulder a little.”

 

Kuroo nodded, tugging at the nagajuban to loosen it as per Koutarou’s request. Then he helped Akaashi into the kimono proper, working with him to tie the obi properly. As he began to unwrap it and restart-- it had been done too well-- Koutarou picked up some of the remaining forget-me-nots and held them out to him. “Could we put these in the wig, you think?”

 

Kuroo shrugged. “We can try.”

 

It didn't really turn out right, in the end, so Kuroo recommended they simply scatter it along the folds of the kimono instead, and maybe have him hold a few.

 

“Ooh! Nice, yeah, let's do that!” Koutarou cheered.

 

Koutarou had Akaashi sit in the seiza position once more, binding his hands in the same way he had as the first shot. Just as it had the first time, silence fell over the room as Koutarou did the knots; even Kuroo seemed oddly entranced by whatever fascination held Koutarou so focused on the craft of shibari. 

 

He had Akaashi test it again, and when it was fine, Koutarou began setting up the rest of the props-- he pulled at the left sleeve of the kimono so it fell away from Akaashi's body, revealing a smooth expanse of skin. Koutarou ended up having to adjust the fabric a little so it covered less of the knots, but when that was done, he began to strew the flowers across the fabric, save for two stems. These he tucked behind Akaashi's ear along with a lock of the wig’s hair. 

 

Nodding in satisfaction, he said, “‘Kay, so, you gotta look over your shoulder at me this time. Defiant, and uh, tempting, I guess? Make me think I can't break you. Make me think I either want to try, or have  _ you  _ break  _ me _ .”

 

“Wow, bro,” Kuroo remarked, and Koutarou could feel the smirk directed at his back. “Poetic.”

 

“Like this?” Akaashi breathed, twisting his head and lifting his chin. He glanced at Koutarou and the camera over his shoulder. There was a fire dancing in his eyes that Koutarou hoped could be communicated to the viewer, because it was perfect, really.

 

But it could be better if…

 

“Can you part your lips-- yeah, yeah. Thanks Akaash’.” 

 

Koutarou clicked away, taking photo after photo, shifting angles and distances. Kuroo watched on with thinly veiled interest.

 

Once he’d decided he was finished with this pose, he handed off the camera to Kuroo and stooped to free Akaashi from his restraints.

 

“Hi,” Koutarou murmured, undoing each careful tie with ease.

 

“Hello,” Akaashi replied. He smirked a little. “So, did I succeed?”

 

Koutarou started gathering up the rope. “With what?”

 

“You said to make you want to either break me, or have me break you,” Akaashi explained as he unfolded himself from the pose. “So? Did I succeed?”

 

Truthfully? 

 

Yes. 

 

It had taken all of Koutarou's power to keep on photographing him, instead of dragging him in for a kiss, or worse--

 

He heard the click of the shutter and whirled around.

 

Kuroo was grinning lopsidedly, waving the camera at him. “It was a cute shot,” he said. 

 

Koutarou opened his mouth, but closed it when he realized he didn't know what to say. He faced Akaashi instead, face burning with embarrassment. “Can you lie down again? Like earlier? But don't… the arms. We'll put ‘em somewhere else.”

 

Akaashi complied, and Koutarou asked him to cross his ankles, please-- yeah, yeah, that was better. He had Akaashi rest one hand lightly against his chest, the other by his thigh, but--

 

“It doesn't… look quite right,” he muttered. The rope and flowers hadn't been incorporated yet, but that wasn't what he'd meant. Hm...

 

Then, Kuroo snapped his fingers as if just remembering something. “The breastforms, shit. I forgot those.” Before Koutarou and Akaashi could fit him with a baffled look, he ran outside, returning a moment later with some flesh-toned silicon… thing.

 

Koutarou was sure he spoke for both him and Akaashi when he said, “Dude. What the fuck? Are those rubber boobs?”

 

Kuroo flapped a hand. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Kenma likes the female characters, okay? This was just easier and looked better than stuffing socks under his shirt every time.”

 

Without giving them time to respond,  Kuroo crossed the room to Akaashi and had him stand. He had to take off the wig, and completely undo his work with the kimono and the undergarments, much to his dismay. Kuroo was mumbling under his breath about how he should have put it on before the makeup, too, as he helped Akaashi pull it over his head, stretching the material as much as he could to avoid smudging anything.

 

After that, he helped Akaashi to wear the wig once more and back into the various pieces of the kimono. “There,” he said, satisfied. “Try that position again.”

 

Akaashi did, and Koutarou had to admit-- it worked. 

 

Kuroo must have read it on his face, because his voice was smug. “Better, right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Koutarou said, punching his shoulder lightly. “Nice job bro.”

 

Koutarou handed Akaashi the rope to hold, and the setter did it in such a way that it went through both hands, grip slack enough that the cord dipped and flowed with the contours of his body. Perfect. Now all that was left were the flowers.

 

Koutarou sprinkled them around the surrounding floor, with a few here and there on Akaashi's kimono or on his hands. That done, he directed Akaashi to look first at the rope (“‘Cause, you know, you miss the feeling of it,”), and once he’d snapped a few pictures like that, had him look off to the side instead, as if he were reminiscing something. 

 

Akaashi looked like a forlorn princess, Koutarou thought as he worked. Like he'd (she’d?) been waiting to be rescued only to find himself missing his prison for all the time he’d spent in it. He hadn't been lying, earlier-- Akaashi was beautiful, alluring. Koutarou almost wanted to abandon the camera altogether just to hold him, touch him, sear promises into his skin with his hands and teeth and lips.

 

Almost. He managed to grasp a faint wisp of self control, and he held onto it for dear life. He needed to get this gallery done. And if he was going to pursue Akaashi-- since he didn't seem opposed to it at all-- he was going to do it right. With dates and dinners and flowers. Slowly. Romantically. It was the least Akaashi deserved.

 

When he was happy with the results, he called the other two and they crowded around the camera as he scrolled through the day’s photos. “Tada!”

 

“Impressive,” Akaashi said. “You’ve improved quite a lot since high school, Bokuto-san.”

 

“I didn't have as nice a camera in high school,” Koutarou answered. “But thanks! Don't they look great?”

 

Kuroo patted his back. “Yeah, congrats you dumb owl.”

 

Koutarou was happy. Sure, it was only the first day and there would likely be others later on that didn't go as well or where the shots didn't turn out right, but… today was good, and that was plenty. 

 

He perked up as an idea struck him. “You guys wanna go grab ramen? To celebrate a good end to our first day of shooting!”

 

“Hell yeah. I'm starving.” 

 

“Very well, Bokuto-san. If it's okay, I'll just meet you there, though. I need to shower.”

 

Kuroo went to collect his makeup outside, after a pointed glance at Koutarou. When Koutarou gave him a curious look, he pulled out his phone and began typing on his way out.

 

Koutarou's phone vibrated in his pocket.  _ Help him with the breastforms and kimono and shit, dummy. Meet you at our favorite place. _

 

Well.

 

Okay.

 

“Akash’ lemme help ya!” Koutarou blurted, as the setter began to undo the obi, letting the sash float to the floor.

 

“Oh? All right.”

 

Akaashi let his arms fall to his sides, and Koutarou stepped close, hesitating for a moment before setting his hands on the setter's smooth shoulders and pushing the cloth of the kimono down his arms. “Thanks for helping me with this model stuff, Akaashi,” he said, voice soft as he gathered up the kimono and folded it, setting it aside before reaching for Akaashi's datejime.

 

Akaashi's hands were cool against his own as he helped Koutarou unwind the bolt of fabric, his touch tender as his words when he said, “Thank you for having me. I’ve missed you, Bokuto-san.”

 

Koutarou sucked in a breath. “I. I did-- I did too, ‘Kashee! I mean. I missed you!!! Too.”

 

Akaashi's lips quirked at the edges, and then all that was left was the white nagajuban, and Koutarou stared as Akaashi lifted their hands to his mouth, pressing his smile to the back of Koutarou's knuckles. “That makes me happy, Bokuto-san. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

 

Koutarou blinked. “Did you just.” He blinked again. Akaashi had just. He’d gone and just. Confessed.

 

Just like that.

 

What the fuck?

 

“AGGkaaAaAAAAaShieee,” Koutarou complained, ducking his head to bury his rapidly reddening face into Akaashi's chest. “You can't just!!! You can't-- I was supposed to--! You--” he broke off with a groan.

 

“I think I just proved that I can,” Akaashi said, deadpan.

 

“I was supposed to romance you! Y’know! All…” He flapped a hand at his side. “Sweet dinner dates and spoiling you and cheesy lines, andand-- sweeping you off your feet!”

 

“You can still do that.”

 

“Yeah, but-- I was supposed to like. Write you a speech! And like, it woulda been terrible, probably, but I would've tried! And.”

 

Dammit, Akaashi! Koutarou had had  _ plans. _

 

He felt more than saw (on an account of his face still pressed into Akaashi's chest) Akaashi shrug. “I can take it back--”

 

Koutarou jerked back. “No!!! Nonono, AgggggaaAAAaAshEeeeE!”

 

Akaashi sighed, though there was a grin curling around his mouth and wrinkling at the corners of his fathomless eyes. “Okay. I won't, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Good.”

 

A minute went by with them just like that, Koutarou basking in the sweet feeling of having the one he liked like him back-- the possibility of love was there, he knew, and he was fairly certain that was what it was. It felt too long-standing, too sure to be something as childish as  _ like _ . But what did he know? He didn't want to call it love only to find it wasn't, so he could wait. They both could.

 

Finally, Akaashi broke the quiet, saying, “Bokuto-san, I thought you were going to help me out of this.”

 

“Right! Sorry, ‘Kaashi.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!!! IMPORTANT !!!! THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN HEAVILY REVISED!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaa it took so long but I'm done revising this chapter!!! I know a lot of this is exactly the same as it was the first time I uploaded it, but there's also a lot of new and rearranged content! I'm much more satisfied with this, so I hope you guys enjoy it too, and that you won't mind rereading, if you’ve read this chapter before.

Taking off the nagajuban took longer than it should have. Koutarou insisted on taking pictures of the process of slipping it off his shoulders because he was fascinated by it, and Akaashi couldn't seem to deny him. (He liked the difference between his thick and calloused hands against Akaashi’s sleek, svelte muscle; liked the plain white cloth against the tan of the setter's arm-- a blank, empty canvas against a living work of art.) That, and Koutarou couldn't help himself and finally set his mouth to Akaashi's skin like he'd been wanting to all day. He didn't leave any marks, of course, and rather than hungry, his ministrations were… gentle. Loving.  _ Adoring _ .

 

Akaashi looked flustered for the first time all day by it. Like he didn't know how to handle attention that wasn't fashioned from lust because of his appearance. 

 

Koutarou hoped he could be the one to teach him how to deal with it.

 

They did, however, have to go meet Kuroo, so Koutarou reluctantly let Akashi free so he could pull on his clothes from earlier. Koutarou's dorm was closer, so he offered to let Akaashi use his shower, but Akaashi politely declined, citing his need for new clothes-- “Sorry Bokuto-san, but I don't think yours would fit well. You're bulkier than I am.”

 

Koutarou laughed. He asked if he could walk Akaashi home instead, then. After that, he could take Akaashi to the little ramen house that he and Kuroo frequented because it was their favorite. They had the best shoyu ramen, and the gyoza was pretty great too.

 

Akaashi agreed, and they set off. 

 

/////

 

“So, basically, it took him teaching himself makeup and costume-making and all the other shit that goes with cosplay all for Kenma’s birthday before he even  _ considered _ the fact that he was hopelessly fuckin’  _ gay _ ,” Koutarou laughed.

 

Kuroo groaned. “It wasn't my fault, I’ve always done shit like that for Kenma--”

 

“Which means you were  _ always  _ a fuckin’ gay disaster, Kuroo,” Koutarou retorted.

 

Akaashi was hiding a grin behind his hand, clearly entertained by the story. But, polite as always and perhaps feeling generous, he said, “Well, it did have a positive result, didn't it, Kuroo-san? You and Kozume are together now.”

 

Kuroo’s smile was big and goofy when he sighed out, “Yeah, yeah we are.”

 

“Gross,” Koutarou teased, shoveling another dumpling into his mouth. “You’re so  _ in love _ .” 

 

“And you aren't?”

 

Koutarou's chopsticks slipped from his grip, and he felt heat flood his face. “I’m-- I!!! IT'S NOT. I MEAN IT-- I.” He nearly faceplanted in his ramen-- it was only Akaashi's forethought that kept him from doing so. Probably expecting some sort of flailing, he had yanked the bowl to the center of the table, a safe distance from the spiker. “Fuck you,” he told the table.

 

“Relax, bro, we know what you mean, don't we?”

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san, don't worry about it. We can figure things out slow. We have time.”

 

Koutarou lifted his face just enough to peek at Akaashi. “Really?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Koutarou hooted, straightening up and grinning wildly at Akaashi. “You really are the best, Akaashi!”

 

Akaashi eyed him for a second, all fond smiles and easy company, and then all at once he blushed a furious shade of red, swallowing audibly and averting his gaze. “Kuroo-san,” he said, voice gravelly for some reason. “Could you please pass the water?”

 

“Oyaoya?” Kuroo waggled his eyebrows, but did as Akaashi asked. Koutarou had no idea what was going on-- what was the joke? When had he missed it? What?

 

Koutarou glanced back and forth between them, but no explanations came. He was only a little bit put out; he was happy enough spending time with both of his best friends in the world after a successful photography session, and the food was too great to stop eating anyway. 

 

The conversation moved on to other things, like Akaashi gaining a genuine interest in dance and putting the training his parents had put him through all those years to good use--

 

“What??? AkggGgaAAaashiie you did ballet?!” 

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san, from kinder all the way through to my middle school years. I stopped when I joined volleyball, but they did make me attend refresher classes once in a while during holidays.”

 

Koutarou grilled him on it for a bit-- like whether he’d joined competitions (he did, once or twice) or if he had videos Koutarou could see (no, but his parents probably did), and… Koutarou wasn't bothered by it. He really wasn't. He was just curious.

 

Their other topics ranged from Koutarou's past galleries, Kuroo’s latest chemistry experiments or lab nightmares, and overall just life updates like who was up to what, what other stories had they missed… it was nice. Wonderful, even-- all the more so because Koutarou was learning new things about Akaashi, and Akaashi was clearly interested in him in return.

 

Soon enough they paid the bill and started gathering up their jackets to leave. It was just nearing four in the afternoon, so Koutarou said, “Hey, ‘Kaash, why don't you come hang out with us at the dorm?”

 

Kuroo’s eyebrows rose. “Nope. No. Not ‘us’,” he said. “You two can go do your shit, I'm booking it to Kenma’s.”

 

“What?” Koutarou exclaimed. “Hey hey hey, what the heck bro? Why?”

 

Kuroo looked at him incredulously like he was dumb to even ask. “Because I'm not third-wheeling between you two any longer than I have to. It was nice catching up with you, though.” The last bit was directed at Akaashi, along with a small nod and a shit-eating grin Koutarou still didn't get the point of. 

 

“Likewise, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi said, though he sounded a little miffed at… whatever Kuroo had said in their nonverbal conversation.

 

Koutarou pouted for only a second before perking up again. “Say hi to Kenma for us!”

 

“Yeah, yeah. He’ll want to see Akaashi soon too, so maybe next time.” With a wave, Kuroo headed out of the restaurant and off to, presumably, Kenma’s house.

 

“Shall we go, Bokuto-san?”

 

“Yeah! Come on.” Koutarou grabbed Akaashi by the wrist and tugged him out the door and to his dorm, excitedly rambling on about things they could do there. Akaashi mostly agreed, sometimes putting in his two cents. Otherwise, he only spoke up to have Koutarou slow down or to warn him of hitting other passersby. He seemed content just to hear Koutarou talk.

 

As Koutarou unlocked the door and ushered Akaashi inside, he found himself saying, “Hey, ‘Kaashi, how come you never told me you danced?” Now that they were alone again, Koutarou found himself wondering about it. Why hadn't he known? Weren't they best friends? Didn't they tell each other everything? This seemed like something major… Akaashi had done it most of his life, after all. 

 

Akaashi looked startled by the question, considering it with a soft, “Hm.” 

 

Finally, he said, “I didn't really think it was important, before. I didn't like it very much until recently. I met some people in San Francisco who taught me to enjoy it.”

 

“Oh.” Koutarou felt a small sting of jealousy and the slightest pang of loss-- he wished he could have been the one to help Akaashi find love for something he’d once glossed over. He wished he hadn't missed so much of his best friend's life. He wished--

 

He wished there wasn't this… this weird chasm. Because there was one, wasn't there? Despite all their routine conversations and how simple it was to fall back into the habits of their high school days, there were things about Akaashi Koutarou could never relate to, had never experienced with him or heard about except in passing if he'd heard about them at all, and vice versa. There were friends Koutarou had now that Akaashi didn't know at all, and the same, obviously, was true in reverse. They had secrets with other people, promises held for other parties, and--

 

“Yes.” Akaashi's voice drew him from his reverie, dragged him from his impending downswing. He couldn't help but question whether it was just luck, or if Akaashi could still read him as well as he used to, when he would analyze his every mood and move before a game, say just what he needed to hear to play at his best.

 

Well. Koutarou chose to believe the latter. He needed to be positive! And really, he could learn about Akaashi's new things. And Akaashi could learn his in return.

 

“D’you wanna play Just Dance then? I can set it up on the Xbox-- but you have to promise not to laugh, okay, Akaash? I'm not good but it's fun.” Koutarou asked, though he was already switching on the console, searching for the right disc among their game collection.

 

Akaashi spoke up just as he found the right one with a small ‘aha’ of victory. “Actually, Bokuto-san, I was thinking we could just catch up some more. I know we've been texting constantly the past few days already, but I… we missed a lot of each other's lives.” He paused, and Koutarou turned to meet his gaze. “And I missed you. A lot.”

 

Koutarou felt warmth flood his face, and he spun away on the pretense of poking the game back into its spot. “I missed you too, ‘Kaash,” he said.

 

“I'm glad.” Akaashi walked over to turn off the Xbox, and then he sat himself on the sofa, smiling as he patted the spot beside him in invitation. “So, tell me about yourself, Bokuto-san.”

 

Koutarou grinned as he plopped down beside Akaashi. “Well what do you want to know?”

 

Akaashi hummed in thought, tugging at his fingers absent-mindedly-- Koutarou recognized the habit as something Akaashi had done since high school, maybe even before then. “How about,” he began, twisting in his seat to face Koutarou a little better. Koutarou pretended not to be internally screaming about the way it caused their legs to press together just a smidge. He could be cool. He could be calm about this. Absolutely.

 

Probably.

 

“How about why you don't play anymore? You always loved volleyball, ever since ‘that moment’.” Akaashi tilted his head curiously, watching Koutarou carefully as if expecting Koutarou to lie, perhaps, or to get upset over the question. 

 

Koutarou understood why. The answer wasn't a happy one, and Akaashi must have remembered the way he’d glossed over the reasons behind it during their first reunion at the coffee shop. “I stopped playing volleyball to focus on my degree last year,” Koutarou said. “The team... wasn't like  _ our  _ team. They didn't really like my mood swings or my loudness. We played fine together as long as I was up, but when I was down…”  _ They left me _ .

 

Koutarou didn't want to say it out loud, really, and Akaashi nodded to let him know he understood regardless-- ah, Koutarou really could always count on him. 

 

Koutarou went on, “It didn't feel great anymore, you know? I ended up doing practices mostly alone or with Kuroo. Sometimes Ushijima, when he had time-- he’s actually a nice guy, y’know, just a little blunt.” he paused, wondering how to phrase the next bit properly.

 

He didn't have to say it at all, apparently. Akaashi gave him a sad smile, saying, “So you left?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Koutarou nodded. “Now I just play for fun. I enjoy it more and my grades are higher than ever! So!” He beamed, and if Akaashi noticed the not-quite-sincerity of it, he didn't comment.

 

“What about you, Akaashi?” Koutarou asked, as the silence between them stretched and he began to fidget. Besides, it was unfair if Koutarou only talked about himself. Like he’d decided earlier, Koutarou wanted to learn about Akaashi too!

 

Akaashi blinked, as if he hadn't expected the question. “Me?”

 

Koutarou laughed, slapping Akaashi across the back. It was a testament to how used to it he was, even after this time apart, that he didn't so much as wince. “Yeah, you! What other Akaashi’s are here?” 

 

“I never planned to continue volleyball after high school, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Eh? Why not? You were so good!” Koutarou slapped a hand over his mouth too late to catch his outburst. “Sorry,” he said, with a sheepish smile.

 

Akaashi sighed in fond exasperation. “I know I was, but volleyball for me… the best time I had on court was with you-- helping you shine brighter, clearing the path for you. Nothing could have compared.”

 

Koutarou flushed under the praise.

 

“To be honest with you, though, it was mostly other factors,” Akaashi went on with a shrug, ignoring Koutarou’s yelp at being complimented only to be brushed aside. (Mostly ignoring; Koutarou caught the twitch of his lips just before he twisted his face away to hide it.) “I wanted to focus on my studies, since college is a different level from high school entirely, and I doubted whether I’d be able to handle the strain of training and practices alongside my coursework.”

 

“Oh. That makes sense,” Koutarou said.

 

“Yes.”

 

Koutarou smiled. “So what else have you been up to, ‘Kaash?”

 

Akaashi smiled back at him, soft and sweet, and the rest of the day melted away into stories and traded banter and secrets whispered into eager ears. Koutarou knew he wouldn't remember all of it, probably. Maybe only bits and pieces, the ones that caught his attention most. 

 

He also knew that what he wouldn't forget, not even for a millisecond, was the cadence of Akaashi’s voice, just the right volume to be audible, the slight accent around his Japanese after speaking English so often… he knew he would always be able to recall in perfect detail the places that Akaashi touched him, casual points of contact that Koutarou had missed in their time apart, as well as the vibrancy of his expressions, the subtle shifts in his features that only those close to him could discern as excitement or amusement or embarrassment.

 

Akaashi was back. And Koutarou couldn't be happier.

 

/////

 

The next day, Koutarou decided their venue would be in one of the campus greenhouses. He’d already talked to one of the teachers in charge, and while it was open to the public, the teacher had said weekends it was generally empty. Still, Koutarou knew he’d need to stop by the faculty to borrow those big lights that they had-- the greenhouse lighting was pretty unreliable and splotchy, and while it might work for some shots, he didn't want to get there and find out he didn't like it. 

 

Today he was thinking he’d do the animalistic versus civilization contrast-- the greenhouse he had in mind housed a variety of tropical plants and was a little unkempt, the perfect combination of wild and orderly for his photography. He was sure that in one of the nook and crannies there was a tea table of some sort, set away from the reaching tendrils of foliage but still not entirely separate. He liked that. Now he just needed to have Akaashi bring the right clothes.

 

He texted Akaashi to bring some formal clothes, even just slacks and a collared shirt and a nice pair of shoes, and then a pair of preferably ripped jeans, maybe some boots to go with them. He didn't get a reply, but he added on that he’d be going there early to set up the lights and such, and Akaashi should just meet him at the campus library since that was easier to find. The greenhouses were a little out of the way. 

 

A minute later, Akaashi's response came in, acquiescing to Koutarou's requests as well as promising to borrow clothes from his sister's closet so he wouldn't need to use Kuroo’s mother's.

 

“Hey hey hey Agashiee!” Koutarou waved his hand wildly, jogging up the figure perched on the stone steps.

 

Akaashi pushed himself to his feet and offered Koutarou a small smile. “Hello, Bokuto-san. Did you finish your preparations?”

 

Koutarou nodded eagerly. “I did! Kuroo is there already, and we already talked about the aesthetic shit and what he's going to be doing for you, but ah,” Koutarou paused to rub the back of his neck. “It’s a little makeup heavy today, sorry.”

 

Akaashi shrugged. “I don't mind, Bokuto-san. Shall we go?”

 

“Yeah!” Koutarou chirped. On the way there, he began describing his vision for the day’s shots and what he hoped to get done. They’d do the prim and proper shit first, since that one required less makeup… but Koutarou was most excited for the primal thing. Kuroo had had a few ideas, and Koutarou was excited to see how his bro chose to meld them with Koutarou's plans. 

 

He pointed Akaashi towards the environmental sciences building so he could use the bathroom to change-- well, later at any rate. He had decided it was easier to come in his suit, and he even told Koutarou he had a blazer tucked away in his bag if necessary. 

 

Since Akaashi didn't need to change, Koutarou pushed the door of the greenhouse open and wound his way to a back corner, where there was a small alcove free of the semi-chaos of the plant life. There were two chairs and a table there, wrought from iron in delicate curlicues and whorls, painted an almost forbidding white-- so clean it almost made you afraid to sit for fear of besmirching its surface. 

 

Koutarou had borrowed a friend's porcelain tea set-- the European sort that seemed so fragile a look could shatter it-- and Kuroo had been kind enough to arrange it while Koutarou went to meet Akaashi. One cup had even been filled with a honey gold liquid, steaming gently. He must have just poured it.

 

Koutarou reached for today's bundle of forget-me-nots and plucked a few tiny blossoms, setting them to float in the tea. He set a few stems on the cup’s saucer, in case he took a shot where the drink wasn't visible, and scattered the others at the feet of the table and chair.

 

“Thanks dude,” Koutarou said, and Kuroo shrugged it off.

 

“Eh. Wasn't hard.” Kuroo beckoned Akaashi over. “Now we just need to do something about that hair of yours,” he said, grinning.

 

Akaashi arched one elegant brow, setting his bag down on the floor near Kuroo’s own case of supplies. “You talk as if your hair isn't a rat’s nest all day everyday,” he retorted, though he stepped easily towards the middle blocker.

 

“I’m not the one modelling.” Kuroo rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue playfully. “My hair looks good as it is anyway. It adds to my charm.”

 

Koutarou snorted. “What charm?”

 

Akaashi responded, “Well, I suppose there is a certain rough appeal to him. Like those teenage punks that act tougher than they are. Or maybe some sort of gang member fresh from juvie.”

 

Koutarou outright cackled, slapping Akaashi on the back just a little too hard-- he winced and mouthed an apology, before saying, “Yeah, yeah! That's exactly it!”

 

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at them. “You two suck. Anyway--” he popped the lid of a can of hairspray, gesturing at one of the chairs he’d dragged aside. “Sit so I can smooth it down and shit.”

 

Akaashi obliged, and as Kuroo got to work, Koutarou started messing with the lights and the composition of the other elements of the shot, trying to figure out the best angles and settings to use. 

 

“You have a blazer?” Kuroo was asking.

 

“Yes, I did bring one. It was warm so I put it in my bag rather than wearing it. Shall I get it?”

 

“Bo?”

 

“Hm?” Koutarou perked up at the mention of his name. “Well… If you wear it it might cover the ties or get in the way… but without it you don't look as formal as you could…” he mused.

 

Kuroo nodded. “What about having him sling it over the back of the chair, or the armrest?” he offered.

 

Koutarou pictured it in his mind and… “I like it,” he declared. “Can you do it, ‘Kaash?”

 

“Of course.” Akaashi unzipped his duffel and extracted a sleek navy blue blazer that matched his slacks, the dark color a nice contrast with the pale cream of his dress shirt. He spread it over the back of the chair carefully, careful not to let it touch the ground and to let it sit evenly. “Is that all right?”

 

“Yeah!” Koutarou picked up the rope for today-- whereas last time he had chosen the normal rope, this time, he'd picked one that was black as a raven’s feathers, so it would be clearly visible against the white of the chair and table and still be… strict. Binding. Suffocating almost.

 

The ropework he had in mind for today would take a little time to do and undo, an intricate though mostly repetitive series of ties that would produce a sort of corset around Akaashi's middle. He was considering fashioning a little rope choker for Akaashi as well, but… that would be later still, if at all.

 

After checking one last time if Akaashi needed anything, Koutarou took the rope in hand and began the knotting process, hands sure if a little slow-- he had practiced doing it a few times on a chair back at home, but to do it on another human being was a little more complicated. He needed to be sure not to get to close to any nerves or to make it too tight, and he frequently checked in with Akaashi about how it was feeling or if it needed adjustment. It would be much more difficult to have to undo rows and rows of it later if there was discomfort, and it was safer this way, really.

 

At some point, Koutarou had gotten on his knees to better work, this way the knots were at eye level for him-- even if it was a little awkward having his face so near Akaashi's crotch-- and uh.

 

_ Uh. _

 

Not going there. Nope.

 

Distraction… he needed a distraction.

 

“Akaashi,” he croaked out. He felt himself blush as he realized how almost incriminating it sounded and coughed to clear his throat. “You remember the rules, right? The safety stuff.”

 

Above him, Akaashi seemed equally flustered by their positions, his hands reverently and seemingly unconsciously rising to play with Koutarou's hair. (Somewhere in the background, Kuroo was making gagging sounds; neither of the two paid him any mind.) “Yes,” he said, words a mere whisper. 

 

“That's… that's good.”

 

Koutarou swallowed thickly. What else could he say? In the end, he said nothing, channeling all his intent into his tying to avoid considering Akaashi-- how pretty he looked with his hair swept back, how dashing and clean-cut the suit made him-- how his eyes watched Koutarou with something soft and sweet in them, like caramel or chocolate. 

 

Once Koutarou had worked the stay of the corset into place and checked the end result over, he had Akaashi attempt a few simple movements to get an idea of what he could and couldn't do. 

 

He couldn't bend as much as usual, which didn't surprise Koutarou in the slightest, and stretching too much made the rope chafe and his shirt ride up-- Koutarou fixed that quickly, careful not to glance at the taunting little strip of skin (and if his fingers lingered longer than necessary, well, no one need know). 

 

“Could’ya sit in the chair now, Akaash’? All… proper-like.”

 

He could, and he did. “Would you like me to hold the tea, Bokuto-san?”

 

“Yeah. Please.” There was a pause. Then Koutarou realized he should probably give Akaashi more direction, so he said, “‘Kay so I need your body language a little tense? Maybe cross your legs… Um.” He thought a little more. “Oh! Straighten your back? Y’know, more than you usually do. So it looks a little stiff? Maybe? But-- but your face needs to be relaxed.”

 

“Is that so? Won't that be contradictory?” Akaashi asked. It wasn't out of doubt or anything, Koutarou knew. The two of them had always shared a trust deeper than anyone could account for. It was a question borne from curiosity and nothing more, so Koutarou didn't mind.

 

Truthfully, Koutarou wouldn't have minded even if it had been doubtful. It did sound odd after all. 

 

He explained, “I want you to look sorta like… like you're dazed. Daydreaming. Because. Like. You're supposed to be used to the whole… discomfort thing.”

 

Understanding dawned on Akaashi, and he nodded. “All right. I can do that.” He adjusted himself into the right pose, tilting his head without prompting so that the light filtering through the glass panes struck his profile beautifully. 

 

Koutarou had to wonder: had Akaashi done this sort of thing before? He seemed rather used to posing himself.

 

“Look at me, first-- or maybe just past me.” Koutarou took a few shots that way, then had him turn to face the window, then off to the wall opposite him, taking a few shots of each respective look in turn.

 

When he felt he had enough shots, Koutarou undid Akaashi's corset, freeing the other from his constraints at least temporarily. Akaashi claimed to be ready to continue, but Koutarou wouldn't have it-- he knew Akaashi likely still felt off and uncomfortable, from the indents of the rope, and to put him back in it so soon would be cruel, really.

 

Stubborn as always (no matter what people thought, Koutarou knew Akaashi was at least as-- if not more-- hard-headed than Koutarou himself), Akaashi insisted on at least changing into the dress he’d brought. 

 

Koutarou knew that was the best compromise he’d get from the setter, so Akaashi fished out a dark square of fabric from his duffel and accepted the breastforms from Kuroo, then left for the nearby bathroom. 

 

Kuroo cleared his throat.

 

“Yeah bro?”

 

“You do know he's doing this just to tease you, right?”

 

Koutarou sighed. It hadn't occurred to him before, but it made sense. Akaashi was just that brand of evil. “I shouldn't’ve-- I mean, I--”

 

Kuroo chuckled at his expense, and Koutarou couldn't even bring himself to swat at him. “He sent me a picture of the dress, you know. To ask if it was okay. Apparently it's some dress his sister bought for a fancy gala just last year. It's stunning-- you might die seeing him in it. Hell,  _ I  _ might die.”

 

“ _ What?  _ Show me!” Koutarou pounced on him, trying to wrestle his phone from his pocket to find the message, much to Kuroo’s complaint.

 

“You stupid owl!” He yelped, struggling to fend off Koutarou's grabby hands. “Stop it!”

 

“Just let me see so I can prepare myself--”

 

“Perhaps I should return later? You two seem rather preoccupied.”

 

At Akaashi's voice, Koutarou froze. As a result, Kuroo’s newest attempt to push Koutarou back ended up having too much force behind it-- for a stationary, unresisting Koutarou, at any rate-- and Koutarou found himself toppling over into a giant potted plant he couldn't have hoped to identify.

 

Akaashi laughed softly. “Are you all right, Bokuto-san?” The setter treaded lightly toward him, offering him a hand.

 

Without thinking, Koutarou grasped it in his own and hauled himself upright-- only to reel back (and therefore tumble into the pot again, inciting Kuroo to let out that awful dying-hyena-witch hybrid of a laugh of his) at the absolute  _ fantasy _ that was Akaashi Keiji in a dress.

 

A very elegant maroon dress that looked like it was made specially for Akaashi-- its skirt was long enough to trail on the floor a little, slit all up on the left side up to Akaashi's thigh (and god, Koutarou was 90% sure he would willingly allow Akaashi to choke him with those thighs). The fabric then crossed over his body like a sash to form the bodice, falling over his shoulder like a cape and creating a small window on the same side-- a triangle cut out that bared Akaashi's side to the open air. The length of Akaashi's other arm was covered by a sheer, stocking-like material, covered in appliques made to look like swirling vines. Somehow, the  _ almost-bare _ of it was more teasing than the actually naked skin, Koutarou thought.

 

Or, he would have thought, if he  _ could think at all. _ Why was Akaashi so gorgeous?????

 

“AkaaAgGaAAaashiEEee!” Koutarou whined. “That’s not fair!”

 

Akaashi huffed something that might have been a laugh as he leaned down to offer Koutarou a hand again. “What isn't, Bokuto-san?”

 

Koutarou averted his gaze to the ceiling as he climbed out of the pot once more. “That!!!” He gestured frantically in Akaashi's direction, though he still didn't look at him. Really, he could only take so much.

 

“Bokuto-san, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Akaashi spoke primly, but there was an undercurrent of a taunt to his voice that made Koutarou want to laugh and cry all at once-- it was so cute, but also so  _ cruel _ .

 

“Liar,” he accused.

 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said instead of retorting, “it’s really rather impolite to talk to someone without looking at them.”

 

“Yeah, Bo,” Kuroo piped up, still breathless from cackling.

 

Koutarou sighed. Well, his life had been short, but it had been good. He hoped he was remembered well. He turned slowly to face Akaashi, doing his utter best not to look anywhere besides his face. “You suck, ‘Kaashi.”

 

Akaashi’s grin was sharp and lovely. “I can, if you’d like. Maybe not here, though.”

 

Koutarou squawked, feeling the blood rush to his face so fast he was fairly sure he’d topple over from how dizzy it left him.

 

That… that image was--

 

_ SHUT THE FUCK UP NOW, BRAIN. _

 

Koutarou sat down right there on the floor, just in case, but… oh gods, it was worse. Akaashi standing over him with a blank look on his face but for the little tick of the corner of his lips, like Koutarou was nothing more than a fleck of dust to him, like he might step on Koutarou and it would be only expected that Koutarou thank him for it.

 

Something like liquid gold, like molten lava, curled in Koutarou's gut, and-- okay, wow, not helping! If he got a boner now, he’d never be able to finish the shots he needed today. 

 

Without his consent, a small, forlorn whimper passed his lips. 

 

With a fond roll of his eyes, Akaashi whirled around and stepped towards the chair again, where he sat down before adjusting the skirt so that the slit was mostly covered. He pulled the blazer off the chair back and folded it over is lap as well, hiding the little window from view. “Is this better, Bokuto-san?”

 

For his brain to work? Yes. 

 

For his libido? No. 

 

Shoving down the very inappropriate disappointment, Koutarou bobbed his head in confirmation. 

 

/////

 

Half an hour passed, in which the three friends (because although Akaashi's presence sometimes made Koutarou forget it, Kuroo was still there) traded barbs and tales and idle conversation.

 

Eventually, though, they had to take the next photos, so Kuroo began to work his magic with his powders and creams and whatever else was in his makeup kit, and then helped Akaashi into the wig. In the meanwhile, Koutarou did his best to weave a flower crown from the forget-me-nots not strewn about the ground or in the tea, and crowed in delight when he managed it. “I did it!” he announced, handing it over to Kuroo to pin into Akaashi's wig. 

 

“Nice one bro,” Kuroo said, fishing around for some extra bobby pins to hold the ringlet in place. 

 

It was Koutarou's turn to do his job next, so he took the rope and started making the corset a second time, able to move a little quicker this time. “You all right, ‘Kaash?” he would ask, every row he finished.

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi would answer.

 

Koutarou spared no attention to his proximity this time, nor did he spare it for the way the dress accentuated all the best parts of Akaashi's body-- he chose instead to zero in on the kinbaku and whether the dress was being caught up in the rope the right way. If he did anything else, he'd never get this gallery done, and that just wasn't an option.

 

He did, however, file away the memory to revisit later, perhaps tonight when he was alone in his room and Kuroo was at Kenma’s, when he could imagine just what he might have done to Akaashi in this position had there been no price to pay.

 

He had Akaashi take up a similar position to earlier, except instead of crossing one leg over the other, he instructed the setter to only cross his ankles. As Akaashi moved to obey, his eyes widened and he said, “Bokuto-san, sorry but I’ve forgotten to change my shoes, I'll just--” 

 

He began to stand, but Koutarou held out a hand. “It’s okay, Akaash! I’ll get them. In your bag?”

 

“Yes. The nude heels, please.”

 

Kuroo was closer to the bag, so he pulled it open and picked up the right pair, but he handed them to Koutarou without much fuss.

 

Koutarou thanked him, then bounded back over to Akaashi, dropping to one knee and carefully unlacing the other man’s leather shoes, setting them aside before working off the buckle of the heels and sliding it slowly over Akaashi's foot, hand warm and gentle as it ghosted over the setter's skin before lifting off to do the same with the other.

 

Akaashi shuddered, but said nothing, watching him in something akin to awe, lips parted.

 

Koutarou stepped away.

 

“There,” he said, satisfied. He took the leather shoes and packed them away, and then he took his camera in hand and resumed giving Akaashi some direction-- he wanted one hand to loosely hold the cup, as if in the middle of setting it down, and the other on his lap, for the first pose. He could look anywhere he wanted, but the expression needed to be about the same as the last one-- lax and laid back, though his body language needed to be anything but.

 

Akaashi easily did just that, adjusting quickly any time Koutarou called out a suggestion or Kuroo put forth a new idea. Eventually, they finished, and after Koutarou had undone his knotwork and Akaashi had divested himself of the wig, he scrolled through the pictures he’d taken for Kuroo and Akaashi to look over. 

 

“Nice,” Kuroo commented, patting Koutarou's shoulder. “Do you know which ones you want for the gallery?”

 

“I liked that last one,” Akaashi offered. He pressed the camera’s keypad until they were looking at the photo he’d meant. “This one.”

 

Koutarou smiled. “Me too.”

 

“Ugh.  _ Lovebirds, _ ” Kuroo scoffed, feigning disgust.

 

“Love owls,” Koutarou responded, grinning wide.

 

“ _ Ugh _ .”

 

They had another break, going over the plan for the primal shots-- Kuroo pulled out some rough sketches of the makeup ideas he had, mostly based on tribal warpaint. Koutarou liked all of them, really, so he left the choice to Akaashi.

 

“This one is interesting,” Akaashi said, after a moment of deliberation. He was pointing at one of the more elaborate looks, a pattern of spots and triangles around the eyes and cheekbones, something resembling a crescent moon and the jagged crests of waves above his brows and across his forehead.

 

“I was originally thinking black to match the rope, but… now I'm thinking white would bring out Akaashi's eyes better,” Kuroo said, eyeing the design. “And I want the eyeshadow to be a little darker. Actually, I was thinking something like the color of your dress, or something a tad lighter.” He smirked. “For dramatic purposes, of course.”

 

“Ooh, that would look great! Could you smudge it, a little? Like near his temple or something, like he'd gone hunting an’ stuff and like, wiped his sweat or somethin’?” Koutarou was bouncing on the balls of his feet, excited already. He’d been looking forward to this part of the shoot all day, and really, Kuroo had great ideas!

 

“That’s… actually brilliant, Bo. I can do that, sure.” 

 

Koutarou pumped a fist in the air. “Yeah!”

 

Akaashi smiled at their antics, adding, “If you were planning on applying lipstick as well, Kuroo-san, maybe you could smudge it too? And maybe use a bright red. Like I’ve just eaten something raw.”

 

Kuroo’s grin stretched wider, and Koutarou whooped. Akaashi had the best ideas! “That,” Kuroo told him, “is an  _ excellent  _ idea, Akaashi. I like the way you think.”

 

“Thank you, Kuroo-san.”

 

“We used the scarlet one last time, but I got a new shade yesterday from my mom because she didn't want it anymore, so. It's just a little darker. Better for blood, really.” Kuroo shrugged. “I’ll smudge a little around your chin and the back of your hand too.”

 

“Yes!!! You guys are geniuses!!!” Koutarou chirped, jostling them both eagerly. “Come on, come on, I wanna see it!”

 

Kuroo snickered. “Okay, okay, you impatient owl. C’mon Akaashi, go change into your jeans and I'll get to work on your face.” He started fumbling around for the right products he’d need, waving Akaashi off as if he were shooing a fly.

 

Akaashi went to do as he was told, and returned shortly in a tight pair of ripped jeans that hugged his figure...and a loose shirt covered in holes?

 

“You told me you wanted me bare-chested for this picture, didn't you? I simply figure it was indecent to walk around topless, even for such a short distance.” 

 

Kuroo waggled his eyebrows. “So, you going to give us a striptease?”

 

“Kuroo!!!” Koutarou protested.  _ Don't give him ideas, good gods. _

 

The gods were not good. Not to Koutarou. 

 

“Is that what you want, Kuroo-san?” Akaashi teased, bending to lace up his combat boots.

 

“I wouldn't object if you're offering,” Kuroo returned.

 

Koutarou wanted to stop them both, but wasn't sure how.

 

Akaashi hummed. “Your boyfriend wouldn't be too pleased to hear that, Kuroo-san,” he said lightly.

 

“Kenma? Kenma would probably agree with me.” Kuroo shrugged. “You’re a pretty guy, Akaashi.”

 

“It’s true!” Koutarou blurted, drawing their attention to him. He flushed, but continued-- “You… you’re really really pretty, ‘Kaash. Beautiful.”

 

Akaashi smiled, eyes twinkling with warmth. “So you’ve said, Bokuto-san. I’m glad you think so.”

 

“Oh barf. Gag. Vomit. I don't even have the energy to pretend to do any of it, so just. Stop with the PDA?” Kuroo said, before Koutarou could respond.

 

Akaashi glowered at him, but Kuroo didn't back down, so he huffed and sat himself in the chair so the middle blocker could get to work, whipping off his shirt in one smooth motion and folding it in half before hanging it over the armrest of his seat. 

 

Kuroo didn't dally anymore, getting right to business. He was quiet, focused on ensuring the patterns were right and speaking only when necessary. He started from the area beneath Akaashi's eyes, the middle of the forehead and branching outward towards the temples. While it was still drying, he asked the setter to smear it with the back of his hand as he would were he wiping sweat (though not the full forehead) so it would look authentic.

 

He did so, and Kuroo looked it over before nodding in satisfaction. Koutarou oohed and ahed over it, and then let Kuroo return to work. The lips were next, and the process was considerably shorter. Kuroo had Akaashi do the same thing as earlier, and then he said, “Bo, do you want me to give him warpaint on his arms and torso too?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

When Kuroo was finished, Koutarou couldn't help but gawp at Akaashi-- he looked exactly the way Koutarou needed him to: fierce and wild and untameable, fresh from a very successful hunt.

 

Like he'd just devoured a heart raw and wasn't yet satisfied.

 

Koutarou feared for his own life, really, but he couldn't glance away. 

 

Akaashi held out his wrists. “Are you going to tie me up, Bokuto-san?” There was a glint in his eyes that Koutarou knew meant he was intentionally phrasing it as suggestively as possible.

 

Too bad knowing he was doing it didn't make Koutarou immune.

 

“AAAaaaAkkgkgkgaaAsheeEiIiiiEe!” He complained, burying his burning face in his hands. “Don't say it like that!!!”

 

Kuroo was wheezing from laughter again, and Koutarou flipped him off, doing his utmost best to do it without revealing his red cheeks.

 

Akaashi chuckled. “Sorry Bokuto-san, you're too cute like this. I couldn't resist.” There was a sound of shuffling, and then Koutarou felt the cotton of the rope being nudged against his skin. “Here. We should finish this shot so we can do the last one, right?”

 

Koutarou slowly raised his head. Akaashi was right. Even if he was cruel and mean and teasing and…

 

He was right. 

 

Koutarou took the cord and Akaashi obediently held out his arms once more. Koutarou deftly folded the cord in half and began looping it around the other’s wrists-- once, twice, then knot. Knot again, loop the excess rope over the middle of the cuffs a few times, and through the loop of the other side… tie it this way, then that… adjust it-- “That ‘kay, Akaash?”

 

“Just fine, Bokuto-san.”

 

There! Finished.

 

Koutarou then took a pair of garden shears he’d found lying around earlier, and careful not to scratch Akaashi (they were rusty, and probably dirty; he didn’t want Akaashi to die for gods’ sakes), he sawed at the side of one cuff so it frayed and split and eventually came apart-- like Akaashi had torn through it with the sheer strength of his arm. The other cuff remained attached to Akaashi's other hand, though it was now loose, futile…

 

Perfect.

 

Koutarou led Akaashi to an area where the foliage was particularly thick, had him stand in the midst of it all and, “Eye me like prey,” he said, voice gruff. “Like you’ll eat me alive.” Koutarou had him trample on the forget-me-nots, had him crush some in his hands ‘til they were stained with blue.

 

“I can do that.” And he did. The look in his eyes was ravenous, his tongue flicking out to trace his lip long and slow-- hands pushing the leaves and vines out of his path so he could catch his next meal. The remnants of his bonds were clearly visible, an even greater warning to the world that this man was not to be trifled with.

 

Koutarou felt at once afraid and aroused, though he forced his hands to steady and click the shutter to capture the image; only for his gallery's benefit, of course-- he knew this picture would be seared into his retinas for years to come, maybe forever.

 

He didn't mind it in the slightest.

 

Koutarou took a couple of photos that way, then had him shift poses again, as if he were wiping away the blood or sweat-- whatever it was he’d done to smudge the makeup. He took a few more pictures.

 

Then it was time for the female version. Akaashi changed into a pair of ripped denim shorts, fishnet stockings (also slashed in places as if torn in a struggle of some sort; Koutarou appreciated the touch even as he struggled to deal with Akaashi in  _ fishnets _ ), and heeled boots. He was wearing a plain black tube top to go with it, a cropped one that bared the slate of his stomach. 

 

Koutarou's brain was short-circuiting, and probably wouldn't reboot ever.

 

Kuroo took a damp cloth to Akaashi's face and body, slowly but thoroughly wiping it clean so Akaashi could pull on the breastforms and so he could remake it after contouring and highlighting and whatever else he needed to do. “You’ll need to pose him a certain way so that the leaves or his hair or something covers the edges of this,” Kuroo said, pointing at the line where the silicon ended over Akaashi's skin. “Though if I incorporate it into the designs on his arms, it shouldn't be as noticeable.”

 

Koutarou nodded, still dumbstruck enough to be unable to form a coherent sentence.

 

He left the cuffs as they were, instead considering what pose he could have Akaashi take. At a loss for ideas, he had Akaashi resume his earlier stance first, hoping to jog his mind into working order. The model obliged easily, and Koutarou padded closer, brow furrowed in thought. His hands reached out, fingers ghosting across Akaashi's skin as he adjusted the wig to make it look tangled and windblown, doing it so that the hair fell to mask the discrepancy between skin and rubber. Beneath his touch, Akaashi tensed-- why, Koutarou didn't know. He took a breath and released it, relaxing once more. Koutarou didn't comment. What would he have said? 

 

Stepping back to assess his work, Koutarou began, “Okay, uh. I need you to…” he trailed off. “Actually.” A lightbulb went off in his head, and Koutarou dragged Kuroo over from where he was lounging in the spare chair, ignoring the other’s protests and puzzled questions. He released the other man on one side of Akaashi. “Can you hold back the plants? Out of frame-- so it’ll look like the plants are making way on their own. I’ll do the other side.”

 

“Ohhhhh. Sure man.” Kuroo took some of the plants in hand, clasping them lightly and pulling them so they bent away from Akaashi while Koutarou fixed his tripod and the camera timer. Once that was done, he made a mental note of the frame’s limits and then pressed the button, rushing to his spot. The setup wasn't ideal, but it did work after a few tries. Because Koutarou needed several viewpoints to choose from, but he couldn't see whether his hand was in the frame or not like he could Kuroo’s, it took a little longer than expected-- maybe next time Koutarou ought to ask Kenma to come along. 

 

But eventually they did finish, and Koutarou started to clean up the equipment and cart them back to the faculty, while Kuroo and Akaashi got themselves and their things sorted. 

 

As always, they went through the shots together, and Koutarou got rid of the ones where his hand was visible or blurred. But other than those… the rest were great. Amazing.

 

Koutarou beamed at his friends. “Thanks guys!”

 

“No problem bro,” Kuroo said, patting his shoulder.

 

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi replied, smiling gently. 

 

Now he only had two more contrasts (not counting the gender thing) to shoot for. 

 

Kuroo made his excuses and left soon after, so Koutarou took it upon himself to tour Akaashi around the campus while they were there. He showed Akaashi all the important buildings, like where each main department was and the gym and the cafeteria and where Koutarou like to hang out-- Akaashi only followed along good-naturedly, lips curled in a smile meant only for Koutarou.

 

“Oh!” Koutarou exclaimed, as they started the trek to his dorm. “Your bag, ‘Kaash. It's open!”

 

“Hm?” Akaashi glanced down at the duffel on his shoulder. Indeed it was-- the zipper was halfway undone, his neatly folded clothes visible inside. “So it is. The zipper of this bag is loose, I really should get it fixed soon…” He pulled it shut, but not before Koutarou caught a glimpse of the pair of heeled boots he’d worn earlier-- which reminded him (how had he even forgotten) that Akaashi had only changed out of his shoes and shirt. He was still wearing those damn fishnets and those freaking denim shorts and-- Koutarou was not okay. 

 

Sputtering, Koutarou whirled away from him. He hope Akaashi would let it slide--

 

“Is something the matter, Bokuto-san?”

 

Of course he didn't. 

 

Fuck.

 

Akaashi appeared genuinely confused, at least, so he wasn't teasing Koutarou… this time.

 

“Nothing! Nothing. I. Uh…” Koutarou's eyes flicked to Akaashi's long, long legs-- and then he dragged them away, staring at the sidewalk instead. “Do you want to just order pizza at my place? I don't really feel like cooking.”

 

Akaashi blinked (Koutarou’s eyes, the traitors, darted up to watch the setter's dark lashes fan against his cheeks, soft and delicate and lovely). “You don't need to… that is, I can have dinner at home, Bokuto-san. You don't need to spend money or effort for me.”

 

“I’d like to!” Koutarou insisted. And that, at least, was true.

 

Akaashi studied him for a moment, as if gauging how likely it was that he might win this argument (it was impossible). He seemed to realize this, because he said, “Very well. Thank you in advance, then.”

 

Koutarou hooted his delight, and together they walked to his dorm. 

 

/////

 

Koutarou ordered two large pizzas, chicken wings, and mozzarella sticks, because he knew that between him, Kuroo, and Akaashi, that would just about be enough to fill them, not to mention the snacks and the soda.

 

He paid for the food when it arrived (nearly had to put Akaashi into a hole to do it), and soon enough all three of them were curled up on the sofa (or sprawled on the floor like a pinup model, in Kuroo’s case) watching Netflix as they ate their food off paper plates since no one wanted to do dishes.

 

“Will Kozume be coming, Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asked, as the other began searching for a new movie.

 

“In a bit. He has an assignment to finish, but he’ll be here soon enough.”

 

Akaashi hummed. “He studies game design, doesn't he?”

 

Kuroo nodded. “Yup,” he said, popping the p. “He’s pretty good at it.”

 

Koutarou piped up, “Sometimes he lets us look! Once, he made a character based on me, and it was great!!!”

 

“Oh?” Akaashi twisted in his seat to face Koutarou. “Did he now?”

 

Koutarou knew that was an invitation to continue, so he launched into a description of the amazing art Kenma had drawn of him as an owl tengu warrior, of the detailed backstory Kenma had given him and how it was even good friends with the Kuroo character of the game, wasn't that neat?

 

Akaashi nodded in all the right places, and though he wasn't grinning, there was a glint in his eyes that let Koutarou knew he didn't mind-- even enjoyed-- hearing Koutarou talk. When he’d finished talking about the game, he nudged Akaashi in the chest with his elbow. “Hey hey, Akaashiiie, did you miss me babbling to you that much?”

 

The setter’s brow wrinkled a little. “You don't babble,” he said, in lieu of an answer.

 

“He does,” Kuroo said, raising an eyebrow as he finally clicked play on the movie. “Everyone knows it. Even Bo himself.” His phone began to ring, then-- a glance at screen showed Koutarou that it was Kenma, of course-- so Kuroo excused himself and went to answer it in the kitchen.

 

Koutarou poked at Akaashi’s mouth. “Don't pout, ‘Kawshi. It's okay! I know I babble. It's not a bad thing.” He curled an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, tugging him close. There was no protest, nor any attempt to be freed of it, which made Koutarou feel warm inside, as cheesy as it was. 

 

Akaashi sighed. “You don't babble, Bokuto-san. Babies babble,” he said again. A pause. “And I'm not pouting.”

 

“You so were,” chuckled Koutarou, squeezing Akaashi lightly. “It was cute!” he assured the other.

 

Ruddy color filled Akaashi’s cheeks, and Koutarou hooted at the sight. He rarely ever saw Akaashi blushing. Really, he wished it happened more often because it was so  _ adorable _ . “AaaaAkaaaAshiiii,” Koutarou cooed, poking at his cheeks this time. “You’re so  _ cuteee _ .”

 

“Bokuto-san, please stop,” Akaashi pleaded weakly, catching at Koutarou’s hands so he’d stop his prodding.

 

From the genkan, Kuroo called, “Kenma’s on the train, so I’ll head out and meet him at the station.”

 

“‘Kay,” Koutarou yelled back, doing his utter best to get around Akaashi’s attempts to block his pokes. “C’mon ‘Kaashi, I have to!”

 

Akaashi scooted backwards on the couch until he was pressed against the armrest thanks to Koutarou following after him. “No, you do  _ not,  _ Bokuto-san.” He eventually stood up entirely, when Koutarou changed tactics and lunged for his side. “None of this is necessary in the slightest.”

 

“But AkaaaAaaAAAshiIIiIeeE!”

 

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr at https://theauthorish.tumblr.com to talk about haikyuu, my fics, or anything else!


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